We stood up and boarded the red train, seats jammed close together but it would be fast and then we would be in Rome. We had spoken about Rome for a time, trying to go in November but then we had been obstructed. We continued to speak about going. Rome as the ultimate capital, the famous layers that Ivan and my mother and everyone spoke about, civilisation upon civilisation in the chaos of that antique city. From Florence, it felt like a first step into the Italian South, the beginning of the fiery half of the peninsula and it promised commotion and warmth. I was pleased as we boarded the train because it had been some time coming, and it was an opportunity in between the duties of home. K had a meeting the next day and we decided to envelope it with two slow nights in a little room in the city.
Lying in the dim corner of all nights, a tempt and tangle. The little shop stands on the way home, where you drive past the double parked cars along the pavement. It is so easy to stop, the little pasticceria that works through the night and opens for the young people going home.